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〃Slow down。 This is hard to follow。〃
〃I told Cutter that Patrick Lanigan had been found； and that he was in the custody of people working for Jack Stephano。 We assume the FBI went straight to Stephano and threatened him。 His operatives in Brazil tortured Patrick for a few hours； almost killed him； then handed him over to the FBI。〃
Sandy absorbed every word with his eyes closed hard。 〃Go on；〃 he said。
〃Two days later； Stephano was arrested in Washington and his offices were locked up。〃
〃How do you know this？〃
〃I'm still paying a lot of money to the men at Pluto。 They're very good。 We suspect that Stephano is talking to the FBI； while at the same time quietly pursuing me。 And my father。〃
〃What am I supposed to tell Cutter？〃
〃First； tell him about me。 Describe me as a lawyer who is very close to Patrick； that I'm making decisions for him； and that I know everything。 Then； tell him about my father。〃
〃And you think the FBI will lean on Stephano？〃
〃Maybe； maybe not。 But we have nothing to lose。〃
It was almost one； and she was very tired。 Sandy gathered the files and headed for the door。
〃We have a lot to talk about；〃 she said。
〃It would be nice to know everything。〃
〃Just give us time。〃
〃You'd better hurry。〃
Twenty…six
DR。 HAYANI began his morning rounds promptly at seven。 Because Patrick had such trouble sleeping； he eased into his dark room each morning just for a peek。 The patient was usually asleep； though later in the day he would often explain the ordeals of the night。 This morning； Patrick was awake； and seated in a chair before the window。 He wore only his white cotton boxers。 He stared at the blinds closed tightly before him； stared at nothing because there was nothing to see。 The dim light came from the table by his bed。
〃Patrick； are you okay？〃 Hayani asked as he stood beside him。
He didn't answer。 Hayani glanced down at the table in the corner where Patrick did his legal work。 It was neat； with no books open or files out of place。
Finally； he said； 〃I'm fine； Doc。〃
〃Did you sleep？〃
〃No。 Not at all。〃
〃You're safe now； Patrick。 The sun is up。〃
He said nothing； didn't move or speak。 Hayani left him as he found him； gripping the chair arms and watching the shades。
Patrick heard the pleasant voices in the hallway； the doc speaking again to the bored deputies； and the nurses as they hurried by。 Breakfast would arrive shortly； not that food held much interest for him。 After four and a half years of near starvation； he had mastered his desire to eat。 A few bites of this and that； with sliced apples and carrots when hunger hit。 The nurses at first had felt challenged to fatten him up； but Dr。 Hayani intervened and imposed a diet low in fat； free of sugar； and heavy on steamed vegetables and breads。
He rose from his chair and walked to the door。 He opened it and quietly said good morning to the deputies； Pete and Eddie； two of the regulars。
〃Did you sleep well？〃 Eddie asked； as he did every morning。
〃I slept safe； Eddie； thanks；〃 Patrick said； part of the ritual。 Down the hall on a bench by the elevator he saw Brent Myers； the useless FBI agent who had escorted him from Puerto Rico。 He nodded； but Brent was involved with the morning paper。
Patrick withdrew to his room； and began a set of gentle knee bends。 His muscles were healed； but the burns were still sore and stiff。 Push…ups and sit…ups were out of the question。
A nurse knocked on the door as she pushed it open。 〃Good morning； Patrick；〃 she chirped happily。 〃It's time for breakfast。〃 She sat the tray on a table。 〃How was your night？〃
〃Wonderful。 Yours？〃
〃Wonderful。 Anything I can get for you？〃
〃No thanks。〃
〃Just call；〃 she said； leaving。 The routine varied little from day to day。 As boring as it had bee； Patrick had not lost sight of how bad things could be。 Breakfast at the Harrison County Jail would be served on metal trays stuck through narrow slots in the bars and eaten in the presence of various cellmates； the mixture of which changed daily。
He took his coffee and entered his little office in the corner； under the television。 He turned the lamp on and stared at his files。
He had been in Biloxi a week。 His other life had ended thirteen days ago； on a narrow dusty road that was now a million miles away。 He wanted to be Danilo again； Senhor Silva； with his quiet life in his simple house； where the maid spoke to him in melodic Portuguese heavily tinted with her Indian roots。 He yearned for the long walks along the warm streets of Ponta Pora； and the long runs into the countryside。 He wanted to speak again to the old men lounging under cool trees sipping their green tea and anxious to chat up anyone willing to linger。 He missed the bustle of the market downtown。
He missed Brazil； Danilo's home； with its vastness and beauty and stark contrasts； its teeming cities and backward villages； its gentle people。 He ached for his beloved Eva； the softness of her touch； the beauty of her smile； the wonders of her flesh； the warmth of her soul。 He would not live without her。
Why can't a man have more than one life？ Where was it written that you couldn't start over？ And over？ Patrick had died； and Danilo had been captured。
He had survived both the death of the first and the seizure of the second。 Why couldn't he escape again？ A third life was calling…this one； though； without the sorrow of the first or the shadows of the second。 This would be the perfect life with Eva。 They would live somewhere； anywhere； as long as they were together and the past couldn't catch them。 They would live in a grand home and reproduce like rabbits。
She was strong； but she had limits； like everyone。 She loved her father； and home was a powerful magnet。 All true Cariocas love their city； and consider it specially created by the Almighty。
He had placed her in danger； and now he must protect her。
Could he do it again？ Or had his luck run out？
CUTTER AGREED to an eight o'clock meeting only because Mr。 McDermott insisted it was urgent。 The federal building was creaking to life as a meager handful of bureaucrats arrived at such an early hour。 The throng would get there at nine。
Cutter was not abrupt； but certainly not hospitable。 Chats with pushy lawyers ranked low on his list of favorite chores。 He fixed scalding coffee in Styrofoam cups； and cleared some of the debris from his tiny desk。
Sandy thanked him nicely for agreeing to see him； and Cutter softened a bit。 〃You remember that phone call you received thirteen days ago？〃 Sandy asked。 〃The lady from Brazil？〃
〃Sure。〃
〃I've met with her a few times。 She's a lawyer for Patrick。〃
〃Is she here？〃
〃She's around。〃 Sandy blew hard into his cup； then ventured a sip。 He quickly explained most of what he knew about Leah； though he never called her by name。 Then he asked how the Stephano investigation was proceeding。
Cutter grew cautious。 He scribbled some notes with a cheap pen； and tried to arrange the players。 〃How do you know about Stephano？〃
〃My co…counsel； the lady from Brazil； knows all about Stephano。 Remember； she gave you his name。〃
〃How did she know about him？〃
〃It's a very long； plicated story； and I don't know m